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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871526">with all the fixings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/safelikespringtime/pseuds/safelikespringtime'>safelikespringtime</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Bucky tends to Sam's wounds, Crushes, Fluff, He finds him, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sam is looking for Bucky, Sam returns the favour, SamBucky2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:21:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,326</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/safelikespringtime/pseuds/safelikespringtime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Honey, I’m home,” the words are heavy on his tongue as he opens the door. It’s become a thing, keeping him tethered to something, check-ins with Steve and new destinations from Nat are hardly the human contact that keeps a person sane, especially when Steve makes that pitiful noise like a kicked puppy every time Sam tells him that “No, Steve. If it weren’t for the bodies I wouldn’t be sure he was even here to begin with” or the much worse “No, Steve. There’s nothing here. I don’t think he ever was”.<br/>“You’re alive.”<br/>Sam doesn’t scream. He doesn’t.  But the darkness hasn’t ever answered back before so so what if he jumps and the jump jolts all his aching parts and he cries in pain.</p><p>***</p><p>Sam is looking for Bucky. He finds him, or...Bucky finds him, anyways.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, Kinda - Relationship, they don't actually date - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>163</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>with all the fixings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written for sambucky month. The SamBucky2020 tag on twitter.<br/>Day 7.<br/>Prompt: patching each other up.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Honey, I’m home!” Sam calls quietly to nobody in particular as he steps into the dimly lit hotel room. It’s well after midnight, and he can feel the tired seeping through his bones, aching with the need for a solid nights rest. And maybe he’d get it tonight. But probably not, by seven he’ll have a message from Natasha, telling him where to go and what to do. And he’ll do it, just like he’s been doing it for months now.</p><p>He casts a forlorn glance at the worn metal numbers on the door as he closes it behind him, and then turns back to the room, his brain catching up to the musty smell and painfully floral set-up. Sam stares disdainfully at the bed, all faded pink roses and ruffled trimmings that match the peeling wallpaper. He hasn’t seen a room like this since his great-grandmama’s place back when he was a kid. For a moment he contemplates messaging Nat <em>‘you did this on purpose’</em>. But he doesn’t, they’re not like that. Friendly, sure. But not quite friends. Not yet.</p><p>Instead he takes his time with a shower, scrubbing himself clean of the past two days on the road, brushes his teeth twice over, and crawls into the bed.</p><p>“Goodnight,” he murmurs into the darkness, willing for it to answer back.</p><p>***</p><p>It’s a week later that it finally does.</p><p>Sam’s whole body aches, he can feel the bruises forming along his ribs—hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if they were broken. He’s got a black eye and a split brow and lip, and he’s bleeding under his jacket where a bullet skimmed his side, the skin burning and raw. The concierge gives him a strange look but doesn’t question as he lists his booking and takes the key to the room.</p><p>“Honey, I’m home,” the words are heavy on his tongue as he opens the door. It’s become a thing, keeping him tethered to something, check-ins with Steve and new destinations from Nat are hardly the human contact that keeps a person sane, <em>especially</em> when Steve makes that pitiful noise like a kicked puppy every time Sam tells him that <em>“No, Steve. If it weren’t for the bodies I wouldn’t be sure he was even here to begin with”</em> or the much worse <em>“No, Steve. There’s nothing here. I don’t think he ever was”</em>.</p><p>“You’re alive.”</p><p>Sam doesn’t <em>scream</em>. He <em>doesn’t</em>.  But the darkness hasn’t ever answered back before so so what if he jumps and the jump jolts all his aching parts and he cries in pain.</p><p>His eyes dart around the room once, twice, and a third time before he finally makes out the human shape perched on the sofa in the far corner. And <em>holy shit</em> there sits James Barnes, Bucky, The Winter Soldier. Sam’s not sure which he is, but it’s without a doubt him, sat rigid, watching him with cautious eyes.</p><p>The door closes behind him with a soft <em>click</em>, but Sam’s eyes remain glued to Barnes. The other mans gaze follows his movements as he crosses the room in slow, calculated steps and sets the back down, opening it in search of his first aid kit.</p><p>It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop, and Sam finally draws his gaze off the man in the corner to assist in his search for the kit, pulling it out with a triumphant noise that’s followed almost immediately with a whine of pain as the movement tugs at the raw skin. When he looks up again, Barnes is standing just a few feet away on the other side of the bed, and this time Sam does let out a yell of surprise, the kit falling from his hands and off the bed, clattering to the ground. He doesn’t even get the chance to scowl at it before Barnes is picking it up and rounding the bed.</p><p>“I couldn’t see you after the fight…” his words come slowly, like he’s not used to the sound of his own voice and Sam tilts his head just enough to show he’s listening. “I thought maybe they’d taken you before I got there. Or that you’d died.”</p><p>Sam stands still, unmoving and tense, with his hands raised ready to block a punch at any given moment. He won’t fight though. He’s not sure he could at this point. He’s tired and worn out and in so much pain that the very idea of having to fight right now makes him grimace. He’s not supposed to be living this life. He’s supposed to be in DC, working at the V.A, visiting his mama every Sunday and telling her that <em>no, he hasn’t got the man who tends the gardens number</em>. But ever since Steve walked—or ran, is the more accurate term—into his life, that just wasn’t how it was going to be. And now he was chasing the ghost of his best friend across Europe and that ghost was standing within reach right now trying to make small talk over a gun-fight Sam still wasn’t one hundred percent sure how he made it out of.</p><p>“Fucking Steve,” Barnes breathes, as if he’d been reading Sam’s mind. And this turns his head fully, meeting a pair of piercing grey eyes that don’t shy away from the eye contact. “He’d kill me himself if I let you die.”</p><p>“If you let—” Sam scrunches his nose, turning his whole body towards Barnes this time, a frown creasing his features. He hadn’t expected Barnes to even know who he was let alone be in his hotel room talking about <em>letting him die</em>, like it was something Barnes was in control of. He parts his lips to press the topic, but lets it fizzle out instead.</p><p>“I need to shower and then take care of,” he waves his hand over his whole body, hoping his point comes across, “Stay, please?”</p><p>The shower takes longer than it should. After what feels like a lifetime peeling off his layers he then has to shower one handed while the other holds his balled up bloodied tee against his side to keep the bleeding down. The hot water is a welcome sting on his wounds and Sam wants to stay there until it runs cold, but Barnes is out there, and he might want a shower too, and Sam’s nothing if not chivalrous so he shuts off the water and stands in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection with disdain. He takes in his tired eyes and facial hair that will definitely need a trim once he’s patched himself up. Underneath the black eye there are already dark circles from lack of sleep. He can count his ribs with each bruise down his side and frowns a little at the way it spreads around his front. He’ll have to send a report and get a couple of days recovery time before he’s on the road again. If he needs to go back on the road considering the person he was chasing is currently stood in the next room.</p><p>Sam curses as he wraps the towel around his middle and steps out into the room again, refusing to so much as glance Barnes’ way as he tugs on a clean pair of boxers. He straightens, swallowing down a whine of pain, and turns towards the soldier who is still stood right where Sam had left him.</p><p>They watch one another for what could be a matter of seconds or a matter of hours. Sam’s not sure. He’s tired and in pain and his head hurts. So he just reaches for the first aid kit, frowning when Barnes pulls his hand back out of Sam’s reach.</p><p>“I can’t afford the cleaning bill if I bleed all over their carpet, I just want the first aid kit,” he says, voice laced with impatience. Barnes hesitates, and Sam watches as a look passes over his eyes before his face returns to the uneasy blank it way before.</p><p>“I’ll do it,” he finally says, and Sam parts his lips to protest, but Barnes continues before he has the chance. “If you twist too much you’ll hurt yourself more and if it needs stitches they wont be even, let me do it.”</p><p>Sam’s not sure why he gives in, but he does, moving over to the small table in the corner, sitting down atop the surface and removing the t-shirt he’ll definitely have to throw out now from his side. Barnes follows with silent movements, taking a seat so he’s eye level with Sam’s side and opens the kit.</p><p>It’s quiet for a while as Barnes wipes away excess blood before going in with an alcohol swab. If he hears the way Sam whines and sees his back straighten at the sensation then he doesn’t say anything, just continues working at tending his wounds.</p><p>When the silence does break it’s not in the way Sam would’ve expected.</p><p>“M’sorry,” Barnes says, and Sam risks a glance down at him, meeting the man’s gaze once more. And for all the hesitance in his voice, his eyes are sad and apologetic and maybe a little lonely, and Sam can see for the first time since they’d crossed paths with the Winter Soldier, the James Barnes from the pictures in the museums and the stories Steve had told him.</p><p>“I didn’t realise you were here already and didn’t think when I heard the commotion that it could be you and I got there too late.”</p><p>“How long…” Sam hesitates a little, because now they’re close and he’s actually looking he can see how young and tired Barnes looks and his heart breaks for him a little. “Before you said, ‘if you let me die’. How long have you known I was after you?”</p><p>“I didn’t at first…didn’t know much of anything at first, though,” Barnes’ murmurs, breaking eye contact to return to Sam’s wound, reaching into the kit. “No stitches needed, but you should change the bandage regularly and let it air a bit. Keep it clean or it’ll get infected. M’gonna tape your ribs.”</p><p>Sam sent a silent prayer of thanks to the ceiling; he wasn’t sure he’d have the patience for stitches right now. Though the burn tissue around the graze was definitely going to give him hell until it healed over, his skin ached with the residual heat of the pain.</p><p>“I think maybe…four months back?” Barnes continues, taping a pad over the wound and reaching for some gauze to wrap him. “You were in the same motel as me. The room above me.”</p><p>Sam’s eyes dart down to him in surprise at this information.</p><p>Barnes makes an amused noise, his gaze flickering up to Sam’s face, just the faintest hint of a smile on his lips and <em>god</em> Sam must be a little concussed or something because Barnes looks positively <em>breathtaking </em>in that moment.</p><p>“Why do you always greet your hotel rooms?”</p><p>“I don’t—” Sam squawks.</p><p>“You do, I’ve seen you. Every time you open the door and say ‘honey, I’m home’ before you walk in,” Barnes pitches his voice to mimic Sam, a full blown grin on his face now.</p><p>He’s so pretty Sam wants to reach out and touch him, which shouldn’t be the case considering their previous interactions. He huffs in faux annoyance, swatting at the mans shoulder which only makes him laugh now.</p><p>“You’re an asshole, Barnes.”</p><p>Barnes scrunches his nose a little, eyes darting over Sam’s face a moment, “You always call me that too. When you’re on the phone to Steve or Nat.”</p><p>“Well that’s your name, isn’t it?” Sam shrugs, hissing a little at the motion as it pulls on his ribs. “And how do you even know this shit, man? It’s weird.”</p><p>“I know – <em>knew</em> Natasha. Once upon a time,” Barnes says slowly, looking at Sam but not really <em>at</em> Sam, kind of far off, lost in a memory. “I think I trained her—” and <em>that’s </em>something Sam will definitely be looking into at a later point in time “—I don’t remember properly but…I knew her. And I don’t know how but I know the names she’s using for you. She switches between four of them so once I knew the pattern it was just a matter of checking the hotel bookings. Made sure I was finished with my business before you got wherever I was. Sometimes I stuck around and just…watched.”</p><p>“Creep.”</p><p>Barnes straightens, moving Sam around so he can get at his ribs. “Didn’t know who you were at first. That first night. But they were thin walls, and you had the phone on speaker, and I could hear Steve and…”</p><p>“And it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together from there,” Sam finishes the sentence, looking at Barnes as he works.</p><p>Barnes nods slightly, finishing up on Sam’s ribs before taking a step back, “All better. You look awful, though.”</p><p>“That how you pulled in all the ladies in the olden days, Barnes?” Sam teases weakly, but he knows he looks awful, he saw his reflection.</p><p>“Can you call me…not Barnes?” Barnes asks, disposing of the rubbish from the kit in the trash can.</p><p>“What do you want me to call you?” Sam asks hesitantly, sliding off the table and rounding to fetch his phone.</p><p>Barnes watches him hesitantly, the conversation lost on his lips as his eyes widen in fear, “You’re not gonna call Steve, right?”</p><p>“No, I’m ordering food. What do you want?”</p><p>“What do I…want?”</p><p>“What are you hungry for? Burgers? Pizza? Thai? Sandwiches?” Sam opens the Uber Eats app on his phone, scrolling through the options.</p><p>“Just…order me whatever you get, I guess? Or maybe not. Something light. My stomach is still adjusting to modern food.”</p><p>“What did Hydra not feed you or something?” Sam says before he can stop the words from coming out of his mouth.</p><p>Barnes frowns, shrugging, “Army rations were better. And that’s saying something.”</p><p>Sam just whistles in agreement. He’s sure they’ve gotten better in the years since Barnes was in the Army, but he knows how much he doesn’t want to go back to those foods. He watches as Barnes hovers, taking in how hesitant he is about each movement, remembers the sound of his voice when he’d echoed the question. Like he was still learning how to make decisions for himself. And Sam supposed that he was. Decades of being in someone else’s control, it would take a while to figure out what you’re allowed to do yourself.</p><p>“Go have a shower. Water’s nice. Good pressure,” he says, steering the topic away from the war for now, pulling out a pair of sweats from his bag and offering them Barnes’ way. “I’ll order some food. Take your time.”</p><p>And he does. Barnes is just turning off the water when the food arrives a half hour later. A soup for Barnes with mild spices and bread for dipping, and a monstrously large sandwich for himself, overflowing with meat and salads and sauce that teased Sam’s nostrils the moment he pulled it from the bag.</p><p>A few minutes pass before Barnes steps out of the bathroom, sweats low on his hips, towelling his wet hair aggressively. Sam can’t help from staring. There’s ugly pink scarring tearing around his shoulder where the metal arm starts, and he frowns a little to himself, it looked like they’d tried to melt the metal and his skin together. His stomach churns as he realises that’s quite probably exactly what they did. But then his eyes are drawn down his chest, smooth and defined, and littered with bruises of varying sizes. He then pulls his gaze up, meeting Barnes’ eyes where he’s watching him with an unreadable expression.</p><p>“Come,” Sam says quickly, not wanting to get called out for staring, not wanting to make Barnes anymore uncomfortable than he already would be. “Sit down, eat.”</p><p>And Barnes does, and they eat together in silence. And Sam’s eyes most definitely <em>don’t </em>follow a drop of water from his hair as it rolls down his neck and pools in the dip of his collarbone. And he certainly doesn’t get caught staring at Barnes’ lips as he slurps up the soup.</p><p>“James,” Barnes says finally as the container empties before him, and it takes a moment for Sam to catch up to their earlier conversation. “Natasha calls me the Winter Soldier and I’m not <em>that</em> anymore. And Steve calls me Bucky. And I’m not him, no matter how much Steve wants me to be. And you call me <em>Barnes</em>, and every time you say it I hear Hydra calling me <em>Sergeant Barnes</em> and it just, it feels dehumanising, I don’t know.”</p><p>“James it is,” Sam nods, offering him a small smile, soft and reassuring.</p><p>James returns the smile, though his is far more hesitant, “Thank you.”</p><p>They sit in silence for a few minutes, no tension, just easing into the peace of one another. Barnes—<em>James</em> isn’t used to being around people, and Sam’s fighting his brain’s lingering fear of their first encounter and now, clearly it’s not the same person who’s sat before him.</p><p>“You never answered my question before.”</p><p>Sam cocks his head a little, questioning.</p><p>“Why you greet your hotel rooms,” James answers the unspoken question, a hint of teasing behind his eyes.</p><p>“I don’t know how to say this without it coming out rude but…you’re used to being on your own, right? The soldier did solo missions, and I can’t imagine Hydra, S.H.I.E.L.D, whoever had you…I can’t imagine they invited you to Friday night drinks,” Sam speaks slowly, avoiding James’ gaze that burns into his skin as he listens. “I’m not used to it. I used to live alone, but I still had a job where I saw people and then I got caught up in Steve’s life and he’s always around. But this…constantly on the road, man this I’m not used to.”</p><p>“So you greet empty rooms?”</p><p>Sam snorts, shaking his head as he gathers up their trash, “I guess it gives me something to be tethered to, y’know?”</p><p> </p><p>Sam’s not sure what point of the night they moved their conversation to the bed, and he doesn’t remember falling asleep at all. But when he wakes the following morning to his phone ringing, he’s got the comfortingly heavy weight of James’ arm draped around his middle, and as much as it’s a surprise, it’s not unwelcome.</p><p>“You didn’t check in,” Steve’s voice crackles through the speaker the moment he hits answer.</p><p>“I know, I’m sorry. There were…” Sam hesitates, “Complications.”</p><p>He can feel Steve’s worry seeping through the phone, “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Just got grazed a little. A few bruises. Nothing I’ve never had before,” Sam reassures him, rubbing his eyes sleepily, wincing at the pressure on the black eye.</p><p>“You gotta rest today, I’m calling it,” Steve says, as if Sam hadn’t already made that decision for himself. “Was there any sign of him?”</p><p>Sam twists his head to look at James sleeping beside him, he looks so young and peaceful. It pains him. Steve’s voice is hesitant in the question, it gets increasingly moreso each time they speak, as if he’s losing hope they’ll ever catch up. And Sam makes the executive decision to tell him.</p><p>“Yeah, Steve,” he says quietly, moving his free hand to James’ face, wanting to push the hair from where it’s tangled across his forehead. “I saw him, he’s here. I…I didn’t catch him while I was there, but I saw him in the facility during the fight and…he’s definitely here.”</p><p>It’s not a lie. Not <em>technically</em> a lie.</p><p>James’ eyes flicker beneath his lids, arm tightening around Sam’s waist and he holds his breath a little, stilling his fingers where they’re hovered above his face, wanting desperately to touch, to hold him. But James is asleep and unaware of their current position, and Sam won’t do that.</p><p>“You saw him?” the earnest <em>hope</em> that returns to Steve’s voice is enough to make Sam’s chest ache. “How did he look?”</p><p>Sam watches the sleeping man, a small smile forming on his face as he takes in the way he’s curled around himself and Sam, on top of the covers, like he’d not meant to fall asleep in the bed.</p><p>“He looks good, Steve. Real good,” his voice catches a little, “More like the guy from the photos and the museum than the guy who fought us. Just…longer hair.”</p><p>“Oh,” it’s breathless, the way Steve says it, like everything he’d been too afraid to hope for was being handed to him on a silver platter.</p><p>“I’m gonna bring him home, Steve. I promise,” Sam murmurs pulling his hand back, swapping sides with the phone.</p><p>The call ends a few minutes later, with Steve making him promise multiple times that he’ll be careful, and as Sam sets his phone on the stand by the bed, James stirs.</p><p>“Gonna take me home, are you?” he breathes, voice laced with sleep, but teasing.</p><p>Sam shoots him a half-hearted glare, “Not polite to eavesdrop.”</p><p>“Not polite to talk about people behind their back,” James counters, removing his arm from around Sam.</p><p>Sam doesn’t pout at the loss. He doesn’t.</p><p>The sun breaks through the curtains, and Sam realises just how late in the day it is as he pushes himself to a seated position, carefully stretching out the tension from his muscles.</p><p>“Would you…come home with me?” he asks, turning back to James, catching the way his gaze snaps from Sam’s torso to his face. Sam doesn’t know if he was staring at his abs or his wounds, but he’s going to give himself this and doesn’t even bother hiding the smug smile as their eyes meet.</p><p>James’ eyes narrow a little, like he’s going to challenge it, then changes his mind, pushing an outrageously flirty smile on his face, that nobody this soon after waking should be able to muster, “I don’t know, doll. Usually I’d make a fella buy me a drink before going home with him.”</p><p>Sam flushes, but rolls his eyes, “I bought you dinner. And you already slept in the same bed as me.”</p><p>“You got me there,” James grins, clicking his tongue. “Not yet. I still have…things to do.”</p><p>“Bases to clear.”</p><p>He nods, the smile wiping from his face, expression going soft, serious, “But maybe after I’m done.”</p><p>“I can come with you,” Sam offers quietly, and James shakes his head.</p><p>“Nah, doll. Like I said, Steve’ll kill me if I let anything happen to you,” he smiles a little reaching to touch Sam’s brow above the closure strip. “’Sides, don’t you like our little game of cat ‘n’ mouse we’ve got going on?”</p><p>Sam’s breath catches a little, and he resists the urge to lean into James’ touch, “Wherever you go, I’ll follow. You know that.”</p><p>“I’m counting on it.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>Sam steps into his motel room, his head hurts, and he can’t help the aching feeling that settles in his stomach after seeing the footage of James fighting off multiple hydra agents in the building only a few hours before he’d arrived. He’d called in a clean up crew for the bodies, the men were alive, which was both a relief and a disappointment. But they’d taken a beating, and so had James if the footage was anything to go off.</p><p>“Honey, I’m home,” he says, dropping his back and crossing the room for the bathroom. The steady <em>shower, and sleep</em> mantra running through his head.</p><p>“I missed you.”</p><p>Sam jumps, turning in his place to see James, sitting at the table in the corner, shirt torn aside, holding bloodied fabric to his side. And looking every bit as beautiful as the last time he saw him almost six months earlier—if you looked past the blood and bruising, that was definitely faded more than it should be considering how recently the punches had been landed.</p><p>“James,” it comes out sort of breathless and hitched, and Sam clears his throat a little before he’s returning to his bag and retrieving the first aid kit.</p><p>He cleans him up in mutual silence, wiping down the wound and stitching it up carefully. Once he’s put a waterproof patch on it, Sam checks over the rest of James’ body, applying cream and plasters to any wounds that need tending to, before he finally stands, looking at James for only a second before leaning in to hug him.</p><p>“I saw the footage,” he manages out, voice hoarse like he’d been crying, and maybe he has, he was so focused on James that he’s not sure.</p><p>James’ arms wrap around him with no sense of hesitancy, returning the embrace with ease, “I’m okay,” he mumbles, burrowing his face into Sam’s shoulder.</p><p>“I just gave you <em>eighteen</em> stitches.”</p><p>James huffs, and Sam can feel him roll his eyes where he’s still tucked into his shoulder, “But I’m alive. So I’m okay.”</p><p>Sam wants to argue, but he doesn’t, just holds James a little tighter for a moment longer and then pulls away, catching his gaze.</p><p>“I’m gonna have a quick shower. You should have one too,” he murmurs, “And I’ll order food and we can talk.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam picks at the pizza quietly for a minute, “Steve called me last week, told me it was time I come home,” he says softly. “It’s been over a year, said if you wanted to be found by now you would’ve let me find you.”</p><p>James gives him an amused look, and Sam can’t help but match it.</p><p>“You gonna take me home, doll?” he asks, and his voice has that same teasing tone to it that it had in the bed all those moths back.</p><p>“Yeah, James. I am.”</p>
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